The Knights Templar
by Rougeification
Summary: Boston, September 1st, 2012. I am many things - a murderer, a thief, a businessman, a millionaire, a criminal, a protector, a predator. My story starts at my brothers funeral. Where I learn about who I am, who he was, who Desmond Miles is and most of all, who the Assassins are. My name is William Dawson and I am of the Knights Templar, as my father before me. OC, explicit language.


I stood in front of the grave - it had been covered up completely now, but I still stood there, with rain pelting down, fleeing from the cracks of thunder and exploding into my jacket and skin, piercing my cheeks like tiny blades. I felt this, although I did not feel the pain of it - I just felt numb. Watching the tombstone as if, all of a sudden, the name would change. I hoped with all my soul that something would happen that would change this moment, but nothing did - nothing happened.

I was just alone in the rain.

"Mr. Dawson?" I turned around to see a blonde woman standing under a black umbrella - aesthetically, she was very pleasant, as was her demeanor, but all I could do was nod in acknowledgment. "My name is Lucy Stillman. I'm an employee at _Abstergo Industries_." I nodded once more. She had her golden hair hanging down to her shoulders - perfectly straight and dry in the torrential rain. Her eyes were a deep and tantilizing azure colour, that resembled an enraged ocean storm in the rain. She was wearing a black dress with a matching coat, which struck me to be strange - I would've remembered her from the funeral.

"What can I help you with Miss?" I asked hollowly.

"First off, allow me to offer our condolences, on behalf of _Abstergo_. He was a remarkable man." This only seemed to sadden me - remembering him caused more pain then I can handle. I simply tried to swallow the pain and stay in control - at least in front of her. "I would like to talk to you about a job opportunity."

"I'm sorry Ms. Stillman, but I would rather not talk about such things here - you're welcome to contact me tomorrow. I'd quite like to pay tribute to my brother right now." I turned back to the gravestone.

"Oh, but that's where the job comes in Mr. Dawson." She said, making me turn around in curiosity. "I would like to offer you your brother's job." I narrowed my eyes inquisitively. My _unemployed_ brother's job? "If you will follow me?" I paused, standing in the rain, my hair falling down beside my nose, weighted by the rain. I took a few steps forwards and followed the woman to the drive that went through the graveyard, where a limo sat. She opened the door and got inside, waiting for me to do so as well.

The inside of the limo was the very definition of refinement - the velvet interior and black Italian leather that coated the seats - a small bucket of champagne, overwhelmed in ice, sat beside me. I looked up ahead - Lucy Stillman was sitting on the right side of the limo, and directly opposite me was an elder man - he wore a black dinner suit, more refined than mine, with a dark, ebony bow tie - it was bone dry too. He had a silk pocket square as well, a brilliant red that matched the velvet of the vehicle.

"Mr. Dawson." I made out the dim smile etch upon his face. As we passed the street lamps outside, I managed to catch a brief, but clearer, look at his face - his pure platinum hairline was heavily receded, showing both his age, and probably the amount of stress he coped with. His beard was, by far, thicker than his hair, so as to compensate I guessed, but the main thing that struck me was his eyes. He had a pair of guarded sapphires that seemed to be as strong as diamonds, despite the fragility his age would suggest. "Allow me to offer my deepest condolences." His voice was rich - a pinnacle of class. He glanced out of the window. "Strange weather. I believe it was supposed to be clear skies - just shows you how unreliable people can be." He said cavalierly. There was something about this man - the way he talked, and sat - with one leg crossed over the other; a glass of a swilling bright liquid in one hand, and his other placed on the back of the seat - this man was almost representative of... well, God to an atheist.

He turned back to me, an unreadable expression mapped across his face, as he just sat there for a while, his eyes narrowed and striking into the very depths of my mind and soul.

"Do you believe in God Mr. Dawson?"

"No." I said, completely sure of myself.

"Nor do I; it's a rather ludicrous notion in my opinion. I mean, some of the stories." He chuckled. "A flood that covered the entire world? Or, better yet, the world that was created in seven days?" He sipped his liquor. "Ridiculous."

"It is what some people choose to believe."

"Choice." He humphed. "If you gave people choices all the time, the world as we know it would collapse and cease to be." The man spoke - there was no arrogance in his tone, but he spoke of these ideas as if they were facts. "And I know what you'd think about that: you would say that Hitler gave his people no choice, and he killed millions." He raised an eyebrow, leaving me to humbly admit he was correct. "Well, Mr. Dawson, of course dictatorship is a dangerous idea - it can destroy the very people it's meant to protect." He took another classed sip of his drink. "But what if it was the right people in charge? There would be no petty qualms about the religious ethics of scientific development. The medical advancements would be unprecedented - think of the lives that would be saved!"

"You're talking like dictatorship is a cure."

"Ah, but a cure to what Mr. Dawson?" He grinned once more - the streetlamp that we passed revealed his grin to be one made up of perfectly aligned teeth - like white stone slabs all laid down beside one another as if they had been sculpted by Michelangelo. I paused to think about his question.

"You tell me."

"Well, the very notion we were talking about - choice." He took another sip of his drink, finishing it and setting it down in the holder beside him. "I presume you are familiar with the story of Genesis?"

"Not in great detail."

"Well, tell me what you know of it." I tried to remember the instant facts from the bible story.

"God creates the world in seven days-"

"Six days, Mr. Dawson." He corrected me.

"Right, six days. He rests on the seventh, and Adam and Eve eat the apple of knowledge because of the snake and get thrown out of the Garden of Eden."

"Well - there's the problem with free will Mr. Dawson. Had God not made it possible for them to eat the apple - nothing would've happened."

"You can't put it down to free will." I said with a small laugh. "I mean, the snake convinced Eve. And the apple tree shouldn't have been there in the first place if it wasn't meant to be eaten. And even if it was, why would God put the snake in there?" I paused, feeling slightly embarrassed by my bold speaking. "It's just an accident waiting to happen really." I added in an afterthought. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ms. Stillman titter silently, while the man only beamed.

"You fail to recognize, Mr. Dawson, that free will is evident in all of those problems. You see, God _chose_ to put the tree in there, just like he _chose_ to put the snake in there as well. The snake _chose_ to tell Eve why she should eat the apple, and Eve _chose_ to do so. Just like Adam. God also _chose_ to lie about the apple tree if I remember correctly." I bit my lip in thought. He was right. I wasn't whole-heartedly convinced by his words, but he had an infallible mind, and I found myself questioning the very ideals that western civilization was built upon. "My name is Dr. Warren Vidic." He introduced himself. "I work for _Abstergo_, like my assistant, Ms. Stillman." He gestured to the woman. "I understand that your brother Samuel was involved in a special training program."

"I wouldn't know anything about that." I said hesitantly, looking between the two enigmatic figures. "Sam and I never really talked."

"He mentioned that. You lost communication after the death of your parents?" I nodded. "That was an awful mess... I was actually good friends with Francis."

"Oh, you knew him?"

"Yes, him and Mary. Very good people." He sighed, genuinely moved by the thought of their deaths. "What an awful mess indeed."

"How did you know them, if I may ask?" I said, Vidic smiling at my manners.

"Well, they didn't exactly work for _Abstergo_, but they were... let's say involved with the company."

"Involved how?"

"Well, the same way your brother was involved." He smiled. "I'm afraid that it's against company policy to say anymore at the moment, so why don't you come by to Abstergo tomorrow for an introduction?"

"An introduction to what?"

"Your new life. _Abstergo Industries_." I let my mouth hang slightly open - it was rude, but I wasn't thinking about manners at the moment.

"My new life? I don't know what to make of this... you haven't told me anything about this offer." He smiled simply, then reached a hand to Lucy Stillman, who passed him a tablet. He flicked his fingers across the iPad, then handed it to me. I saw plans of a sort of table - glass screens and pipes running out of this block-like bed. They were schematics of something...

I saw text appear along the bottom of the screen. _Animus v3.06_.

"Tell me Mr Dawson," I looked up to the figure, who was once again reclined in the seat, a glass of sophisticated poison occupying his hand, "what do you know of the Knight's Templar?"

**Feedback is welcome. I hope you guys enjoy this!**


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